Knight Tales: Birth of a Knight
by Higuchimon
Summary: Shou is the only survivor of the bloodthirsty raid on his hometown. Not even Peckmon made it. Desire for revenge keeps him going and the assistance of Barbamon gives him the tools he needs to gain what he searches for. For as Barbamon's Knight and Champion, he can make it all right again. [complete]
1. Chapter 1

**Series:** Knight Tales|| **Title:** Birth of a Knight  
 **Characters:** Shou, Barbamon|| **Romance:** N/A  
 **Word Count:** 1,443/13,009|| **Chapters:** 1/9  
 **Genre:** Drama, Angst|| **Rated:** PG  
 **Challenges:** Diversity Writing: Digimon NEXT & Appmon: I19, 1000-2000 wpc; Three-Sided Box, 9 chapters, 1400 wpc; Presents Under The Tree Challenge; Include The Word Boot Camp, #35, entertaining  
 **Notes:** This is an AU. A nice fantasy one. Written for remi.  
 **Summary:** Shou is the only survivor of the bloodthirsty raid on his hometown. Not even Peckmon made it. Desire for revenge keeps him going and the assistance of Barbamon gives him the tools he needs to gain what he searches for. For as Barbamon's Knight and Champion, he can make it all right again.

* * *

Slowly, he twitched. Drew in a few tiny breaths before sucking in a huge surge of air and hauling himself upright, head snapping to right and left before his strength drained out again and he fell forward on his face, legs unable to support him.

He could taste moss on his tongue and an odd reek hung in the back of his throat. He blinked, trying to remember. Everything seemed so confused, a mess of clashing memories, shouts that made no sense, everything moving far too fast for him to process it all.

He'd come home with Peckmon. He remembered that much. He'd spent the day roaming the woods with his partner, watching birds, both Digimon and regular. They'd had dinner with his mother. Yes. Everything had been normal, peaceful, quiet. And then what? What had happened?

He couldn't remember. Not a single thing. It was all as blank as if it were all cut off cleanly by a knife.

He tried to breathe again and this time a sharp pain struck in the center of his heart. He trembled, closing his eyes. He'd never had that pain before. It couldn't mean anything good to have it now.

Even more slowly he looked down. His shirt had been clean before. Or at least it had been better than this. It hadn't had a hole clawed in one side or part of the other side burned or -

It hadn't had been drenched in blood. So drenched that he couldn't be certain what the original color was.

One hand shaking, he lifted it up and stared unwillingly at what lay beneath. He'd sort of expected, or hoped, a small wound. Not as bad as it looked, maybe. Not at all as bad as it felt.

Not something that made him take the shirt off and wrap it around himself, not wanting to see it again. Hoping he could get to someone who could help him before it was too late.

Maybe he could, if he could stand up. If he could walk. He pushed himself to his feet, legs trembling, and pitched forward again, not able to stand at all. Ice cemented itself in his chest and breathing grew harder, and he didn't think it had anything to do with his wound.

But he tried again, and again, and again, long minutes between each attempt, until he finally gained his feet, just as the sun rose, and the shadows dispersed, showing him what he didn't want to see.

If he'd passed by here at night, he could have been forgiven for not realizing this used to be a thriving town of good size. There wasn't much left of it, and most of what was left would resemble little more than broken pieces of buildings.

He could see bodies. Too many bodies.

All of them were human bodies; Digimon always reverted to data when they died. In some places he saw marks in the ground or streaks of soot and blood that marked where those Digimon who lived in the town - had lived in the town - made their final stand.

He took a step. Then fell again; for all that he'd managed to stand he couldn't walk yet. Pain streaked up from his wound and more from his right arm, which he now could see was twisted in a way that meant he couldn't use it. He hadn't noticed before, even with all of his efforts to get up.

He couldn't notice too much now. His mind wouldn't let him.

Again he tried to get up and this time when he couldn't he lay where he fell.

Why get up? Why move again when by nightfall or sooner he would be as dead as everyone else here?

His mother - he could see the body not that far away. His father wasn't even a thought; he'd passed on before his son reached the age of two. Peckmon - his heart wrenched. Peckmon wasn't even a collection of data anymore.

There wasn't anyone at all left. He had no kin anywhere and no friends as well. No reason at all to keep going.

Except one.

He dragged his eyes open, a sudden influx of rage sending his limbs shaking. If he could do it, if he could survive long enough to heal, then…

 _Revenge_.

He would find out who did this. Everyone hadn't dropped dead for no reason. The buildings hadn't set fire to themselves. Somewhere out there, someone had done this, and he wanted to know who it was and why, and he would _end them_.

He threw his head back and howled out his rage to the fading stars and rising sun. Whatever it took, whatever he had to do, he would find out who killed his village and bring down his wrath on them, until they were as dead as everyone here. Nothing would stop him. If he died, then his ghost would return to exact revenge.

"You were right. There is someone here."

He didn't recognize that voice. He tried to turn over, only to find that he'd exhausted whatever dregs of energy he'd managed to squeeze out of his fury. He lay where he was, eyes half-closed, and worked his throat, wanting to ask who it was, wanting to ask them not to kill him. But not a word came out, not even the first squeaks of a word.

Then someone turned him over, with hands not all that gentle, but alive, and he saw a strange face looming over him. That face stared at him, before moving aside, and another one taking its place. This one was even stranger: shaped something like an old man with a long white beard, but somewhat larger, with a huge protruding nose, and very clearly a Digimon. Taloned fingers touched him lightly.

"Bring the healer. I believe he can be saved."

"As you command, Barbamon-sama."

The first stranger headed quickly away while the old Digimon continued to stare down at him. He didn't continue touching but only looked, as if he could not find anything more fascinating in the world. Looked and smiled, before he spoke.

"Was this your village?"

He wanted to say yes. Still the words wouldn't come. He'd cried out once, but that was all his voice wanted to do. It lay dead in his throat. So he nodded, just once. He hoped it would be enough.

"Do you know who did this?"

He shook his head this time. The Digimon nodded, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a hint of satisfaction in those eyes. He didn't think he was really in a position to recognize anything, though, and he didn't much care, not when he saw two other figures coming back toward them. Barbamon spoke before they had a chance to say anything themselves.

"Make certain he lives and regains his full strength. I think we can be of use to one another when he has."

The new strange Digimon bowed low. "As you wish, Barbamon-sama." He moved closer, the morning sun revealing it to be a Sorcerimon. He'd never seen one before except in pictures and he watched with an odd mixture of fascination and confusion as Sorcerimon worked over him, muttering under his breath at one point, waving his snowflake staff at another, and at yet another, drawing mystic sigils that hovered in the air, shimmering pure white.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, the pain eased itself down to where he could close his eyes and let himself rest, and he did so with the purest of relief. He would have his revenge. He was going to live.

* * *

Barbamon watched as Sorcerimon's magic sent the broken child into a deep sleep. He hadn't expected a survivor, in all truth. That would make what was to come both far more difficult and much easier. It would take time to train him to be a competent warrior, let alone the champion he knew that he could craft from such battered material.

But he knew that he could do it. It would be worth doing, which made it all the better. And if the boy couldn't survive the training? Then he would try again another time.

He turned to his subordinate. "Find all the child's blood and gather it up. It could be useful in the future."

"As you command, Barbamon-sama," Murmukusmon replied, bowing low before getting to work. Barbamon observed in pleasure for a few moments, then returned his gaze to his new human project.

The raid here would prove far more profitable than he'd first imagined it might. Profitable, and entertaining.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** So another new tale begins. I read NEXT for a different challenge and Shou intrigued me. I doubt any of you are surprised. He's just the type I like. And now he's in my hands. Hehehehe…


	2. Chapter 2

**Word Count:** 2,852/13,009|| **Chapters:** 2/9

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, instead of the familiar roof of his family's cottage or even the starry heavens he'd seen on occasions when he was out with Peckmon, he saw a marble ceiling overhead. He turned his head from one side to the other, but what little he could see told him only the barest facts.

He was in a room of some size, with candles set in scones on the walls, candles that gave out more light than they should have. There were well-made tapestries on the walls as well, but of scenes he didn't recognize. He lay in a warm, comfortable bed, far more so than any he'd ever encountered before.

Moment by moment, memories flickered back into his mind. It didn't take long. There weren't many of them. Waking in the ruins of the village. Seeing all the signs that some kind of an attack happened there, leaving boundless death and destruction in their wake.

Realizing that he was the only survivor. Not even Peckmon had made it through.

A fresh memory, wholly unconnected from anything else, flickered into place: Peckmon standing before a powerful reptile Digimon of some kind, one that moved almost as quickly as he had, blocking its way to the cottage, while he'd screamed, trying to get Peckmon to leave, they needed to get help, to get -

He didn't remember more than that. A single blast of furious fire, Peckmon between him and the Digimon, and then everything faded into a nightmare of shadows and torment.

And when he'd awoken then, wounds he didn't remember getting, and a struggle to fight and breathe.

Then the new Digimon came. He recalled their leader's name: Barbamon. Barbamon-sama, he amended to himself. The Digimon had ordered his subordinates to heal him, a peasant boy on the verge of death.

 _We could be of use to each other._

He didn't know what Barbamon-sama could want with him, but the thought of revenge hung sharp in his mind, edging his every memory. He would never be right again until he could gain that. He would never feel himself again until he knew that all the ones who'd taken everything from him could never do it again to another living soul.

Slowly he looked down and lifted the blanket over him, morbidly curious to see what the wounds were like. Sorcerimon had done some kind of magic, but he didn't know if it just eased his pain or actually healed the injuries themselves.

What he saw surprised him: smooth flesh, without even a scar to mar him. He still didn't feel strong enough to get up and do anything, but for all he could tell, the raid had been nothing more than an especially bad dream.

A door opened, quite close, and he looked up in time to see Sorcerimon approach him.

"Good evening, young human," the healer mage greeted as he came close enough to be heard. "Do you feel well enough to give me your name?"

He opened his mouth, more than ready to ask questions and get answers, but nothing came out. He tried again. Nothing changed. Not even a single sound escaped. He stared at Sorcerimon with rising panic, spreading his hands in a desperate attempt to explain what he didn't understand.

Sorcerimon tilted his head in thought, then brandished his staff, ice-blue runes appearing over the bed, circling around boy and Digimon alike. He said nothing else, but watched the runes as they crisscrossed, some changing to others, a handful of them switching colors, until he finally dismissed them altogether.

"I will have to report this to Barbamon-sama," he said, words measured and considering. "What I can be certain of right now is that I have healed all of your wounds and injuries. It has been three weeks since we found you."

His eyes widened; three weeks? Why did he then feel if he'd slept only one night?

Perhaps something of that reflected in his expression. At any rate, Sorcerimon's next words explained, to some degree.

"I kept you asleep all this time. The energy to heal you came from you yourself, which meant the best way for you to recover was to sleep."

Sorcerimon stepped closer. "You may still fall asleep at odd hours for some time, until your body has fully adjusted to no longer being on the brink of death. When you are ready, Barbamon-sama will speak to you. As you may remember, he feels you and he can be of assistance to one another. But that is something you will have to decide on your own."

He moved back. "I will have food brought. You'll need all that you can get to recover your strength fully."

No sooner had he left than the boy found his eyes closing and sleep once again stealing over him. He didn't stir again until something fragrant brushed against his nose and he opened his eyes to see what it was.

Food. Soup, carried in by a Floramon.

He'd known a Floramon who worked at the town tavern. Bright and happy and an excellent cook, she'd greeted him and Peckmon every day when they'd passed by. Now she was gone. She might reconfigure into an egg; most Digimon did that. But her data might not ever become the Floramon he'd known. Digimon didn't always become the same Digimon if they were reborn.

For that matter, if Peckmon reconfigured, even if he found his partner again, he would probably not be Peckmon again. Even if he was, he wouldn't be _his_ Peckmon again. Not the one who he'd known for so many years.

All of that passed through his mind in the briefest of seconds, as Floramon brought the bowl of soup and a tall glass of ice water over to his bed. She smiled at him as she settled it on a bedside tray he hadn't really noticed until now.

"Here you go!" She merrily chirped. "Do you need any help eating it?"

He didn't know. He couldn't seem to talk anymore; what else had changed? He shrugged and started to reach for the soup carefully. Until he knew, he would assume he could do something.

His hand shook, spilling a little of the soup, but he managed to get enough into his mouth to satisfy his hunger, and the water to slake his thirst. Floramon carried the dishes away, wishing him well, and he tried to rest again, hoping for more answers when he woke up.

* * *

Barbamon listened intently to Sorcerimon's report of the boy's condition. For the last three weeks he'd heard regular updates, but those little differed from one another as his new acquisition slept and healed. Now he'd awakened, but all wasn't perfect.

"He's physically as well as he can be. The lack of a voice can only relate to his emotional or mental states, or both." Sorcerimon shook his head. "That isn't something that I can heal, Barbamon-sama."

Barbamon only smiled. "You need not worry about this. A warrior has no need of a voice to understand his orders or to carry them out, is this not true?"

Sorcerimon nodded without hesitation. Clearly if the boy wasn't in peak condition, he'd feared what his liege lord would do to him.

As far as Barbamon knew or cared, this couldn't have been better. While he'd had no hand in the massacre of the town, to find a single survivor so bent on revenge was a blessing he'd not looked for. Now that he had it, he wasn't going to give it up for anything.

"Let me know when he's healed and ready to..." Barbamon laughed as the thought occurred to him. "Though he can't speak with me, can he?" How amusing. "When we can bargain, then let me know. And make certain that I have the finest of trainers ready to assist him in his recovery and afterward."

He intended to make a warrior and champion out of his new acquisition, one fit to take on anyone in combat, even the most powerful of Digimon. His own greatest servants would take a hand in the boy's training, whether they liked it or not.

He would set some of them to find those who had raided the town, however, and he would have to find a method of mutual communication. If he wished the boy's trust and obedience, he would have to provide good faith on his side.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** I hurt those characters I like. Shou is no exception.


	3. Chapter 3

**Word Count:** 4,290/13,009|| **Chapters:** 3/9

* * *

Days came and went. He had few visitors, mostly Sorcerimon, making certain that he regained his strength and helping him to practice walking again. Questions also came, revealing that he not only couldn't seem to speak at all, but that he couldn't read or write.

That shouldn't have been surprising either. The town had – or had had – several amenities, but a school hadn't been one of them. They'd had one when he was a small child, but before he could attend it, an accident one winter brought it burning to the ground, and no one could repair it or find someone suitable to teach.

So he, and several of the kids in town, grew older without whatever benefits education might have given them. He hadn't missed anything about that, preferring to spend his time with Peckmon instead.

The longer he stayed here, the longer the rage bubbled inside of him, getting stronger whenever he thought about what happened. He _needed_ to get revenge. He needed it like he needed air.

Barbamon-sama would help him. He knew that; Sorcerimon reassured him on that point at every opportunity. But he wanted to talk to him about it, to make an agreement of some sort.

But talking, bargaining, required two sides of communication. If he couldn't talk, then he would have to find some other way to get across what he needed to.

Which Sorcerimon gave him nearly a week after he woke up, entering his room with parchment, pen, ink, and a book of some kind. He settled all of that on the table nearest him and met his eyes directly.

"According to Barbamon-sama's orders, I am to teach you to read and write. Once you've gained enough skill, then you can communicate with Barbamon-sama."

And then he would get what he needed so much. He struggled to his feet, eager as he'd never been to get this started.

"First we need to uncover your name. You do know what it is?"

He nodded. He hadn't forgotten that. He just didn't know how to tell them.

Sorcerimon opened the book he'd brought and began to page through it, pausing now and then to offer names. None of those were his, and he itched to know what symbols made up his just so he could point it out.

Instead he had to wait and hope that Sorcerimon would be able to hit upon it. He propped his head on his hand and listened, almost bored now, the names flowing by, one and all not his.

"Shin. Shinobu. Shiori." The names kept coming. He didn't even bother to shake his head. "Shirou. Shou."

His head jerked up, eyes wide, and he waved his hands quickly. He hadn't heard his name spoken since that last horrible night and he brightened at the sound of it. Sorcerimon looked at him.

"Your name is Shou?"

He nodded. Never had he been so glad to hear it. Sorcerimon took note of it.

"There are many ways to spell your name," Sorcerimon told him, setting some of the blank parchment where they could both read it, and writing down several combinations of symbols. Shou stared intently; without being able to read, he didn't know which of those would be the _real_ meaning of his name. But he didn't think it mattered. "These are the ones most commonly used."

Shou bent over, fascinated, anticipating when he could make these words for himself. Voice or no voice, he would be able to communicate.

Student and teacher both lost all track of time as they learned and taught. When Floramon brought food, Shou ate without tasting a bit of it, far more interested in learning how to spell the names of his teacher and Barbamon-sama. He didn't stop learning and memorizing until long after night fell.

More time passed. Sorcerimon arrived every day, but for more writing and reading lessons instead of checking on Shou's recovery. That, they agreed, was doing very well and as he practiced walking longer every day, he gained more strength and endurance.

Two weeks after he'd begun his lessons, Shou rose up respectfully when Barbamon-sama entered the room. He held out a piece of paper, striving to hold back his nervousness. Barbamon accepted it, reading swiftly.

 _Barbamon-sama. My name is Kahara Shou. I'm sure Sorcerimon told you that already. Now I can tell you for myself._

I want to find the people who destroyed my home and kill all of them. I want to **end** them. I'll do anything if I can do that.

Please. Will you help me?

Barbamon looked Shou dead in the eyes. "That, Kahara Shou, is what I have intended to do since I found you. But for a price."

Shou nodded. He'd expected something like that anyway. Now he just waited to find out what the price would be.

"The price is yourself. Obey me in all things. Learn what I and those who I assign to train you have to teach. Become my knight and my champion, the sword of my will. I will find those who wronged you and without a doubt, you will be able to slay them." Barbamon-sama raised a hand before Shou could react. "Your training will take time. It will be years before you are ready. But I will make certain that when you are, you will be able to defeat your enemies with ease. They will expect nothing. You will mow through them like a scythe through dry grass. And when they are no more, you will face _my_ enemies until _they_ are no more. Is this satisfactory?"

Shou fought back tears at this offering of all that he'd ever desired since that moment he woke to the devastation of all he'd known. Slowly he dropped to his knees before Barbamon-sama, wiping his eyes, and nodding. He hadn't missed his voice save on rare occasions but now he wished that he had it, so he could tell his new liege lord how much he appreciated this chance. He would do whatever Barbamon-sama said, for his entire life, for this chance alone.

Clawed hands rested on his head. "Will you obey all my commands? Learn all I wish you to learn? Kill those I order you to kill? For all the days of your life?"

Shou couldn't speak his answer but he nodded, making his vows official. Barbamon moved one hand to his shoulder.

"Then I proclaim you my knight. Your training will begin at dawn."

The sharp-taloned hand moved now to Shou's chin, lifting his head up. Some might have thought Barbamon's features evil or twisted. In this moment, Shou didn't care. If that was what it took, he would be evil himself. Revenge wasn't evil. Revenge was _justice_ , the justice that he would gain for himself. Very few, if any, of those in town had relatives outside of it, let alone friends. No one else would try.

He would do what they could not or would not.

* * *

Barbamon departed shortly after accepting his new knight's oath. With Sorcerimon's assistance, he had already gathered enough trainers to ensure Kahara Shou became the deadliest of warriors, the finest of blades, to be used only by him.

This would have to be done delicately. For all the rage that burned within him when it came to those who'd slaughtered his town, it would take more to get him to slay those who had done him no wrong.

Barbamon knew how to stoke such fires and stoke them well. He could have given the boy the location of those bandits this very hour and if he hadn't wanted to ensure Kahara Shou's own survival, he might well have. As it was, he knew a slow progress of obedience and death would give him the true servant that he wanted.

Far better to take one's time to achieve one's goals.

* * *

Shou didn't think he would be able to get a single wink of sleep. He had to trust that Barbamon-sama would keep his word to tell him the bandits' location. He kept the mental image in his mind as he slid into slumber, himself in shimmering armor befitting a knight, and defeating all of those who'd slaughtered his home without a second thought.

The image became a vivid dream and behind him, he could feel Barbamon's presence, overseeing all that he did, and proud of the justice that Shou unleashed upon the world. Shou almost didn't want the night to end, until he recalled this day would put him firmly on the path to his future and his revenge.

And the dream he'd had would come true.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** I won't leave Peckmon out forever. Shou needs his partner.


	4. Chapter 4

**Word Count:** 5,710/13,009|| **Chapter Count:** 4/9

* * *

Forward. Back. To the side, right and then left. Over and over Shou practiced his moves, focusing with laser-like intensity on the placement of his feet and hands. Later he would work on developing strength in his arms and shoulders, strength that would serve him one day on the battlefield. Right now he needed speed and agility.

 _I can't fail. I won't fail. I won't fail Barbamon-sama. I won't fail my mother. I won't fail_ _ **Peckmon**_ _._

Balance remained one of those necessary components of what he trained for and at the thought of Peckmon, Shou's feet slipped out from under him, not at all helped by the slick grass he worked out on. Rain wept down from greasy gray skies, turning the training field into a soggy, pit-filled mess.

This wasn't even close to the first time he'd fallen today. He stared at the dull green grass in front of him, drawing in breath after harried breath, before he shoved himself to his feet again.

 _I will avenge them._

That thought rattled around repeatedly in his head. Whenever he grew too exhausted to move, whenever he opened his eyes in the morning, whenever he closed them at night, when the pain of overexertion demanded rest, he held it close and refused to let it go. If he made a mistake, if he somehow failed to do everything right, if he didn't train himself to the absolute heights of perfection, then all of this, his very survival, the oath he'd pledged to Barbamon-sama, would be for nothing at all.

Shou refused to let that happen. He would make it through.

He'd taken little more than two steps once he was back on his feet before he crashed down again. This wasn't due to exhaustion or even a simple misstep. He flipped himself over to see who stood behind him, scrambling to his feet after a breath, knowing better than to let himself be vulnerable. Vulnerable got one killed.

Musyamon stood behind him, arms folded over his chest, staring down at Shou as if the human were little more than a vaguely interesting bug, and not one that would be around for very long.

"So you're Barbamon-sama's new pet human," the Digimon said, eyes scraping up and down over and over. "I don't see why he's wasting time when you'd be more useful doing work you're suited for. Cleaning out the privy, perhaps."

He burst into hideous cackles and Shou could not have wanted to slam a fist into his face harder if he'd wanted to. He breathed in and out, and just as Musyamon turned, launched himself forward, fists flying, intent on bruising at the very least.

Musyamon didn't even look up. Instead, he brought his hand up and seized Shou around the neck, the grip tightening in a matter of seconds.

"You think that you can fight?" Musyamon sneered at him, holding Shou high enough off the ground so his feet barely brushed it. "You're a human. Worse, you're a child! You barely have enough strength to feed yourself, let alone fight!"

Shou seldom missed his voice. Encounters with Barbamon-sama made it happen the most, since he longed more than anything to actually _tell_ his benefactor how much he appreciated everything and how he would serve Barbamon=sama to his last breath.

Right now, he would have given what little he had to be able to scream in Musyamon's face, to silence that mocking voice with one of his own.

Instead, he scrambled harder, his feet battering at Musyamon's legs, his hands wrapping around the hand at his throat, straining to do something, anything, that would allow air back into his lungs. Nothing worked. The harder he tried, the worse he failed, and the tighter Musyamon's grip became, until spots of red and black began to flower before his eyes.

Then he hit the ground again, and when he gasped for air it came, sharp and harsh and welcome into his lungs. He trembled, staring down at the damp brown earth, and soundlessly gasped when Musyamon's foot kicked his side.

"Get up, human. You're useless and worthless. You're going to get yourself killed, especially if you think you can fight like this."

Shou wanted to stay on the ground. He wanted to get up and jam the practice sword – now halfway across the training ground and broken in half – into Musyamon's face.

Another kick and a spike of pain that drove him to his feet as surely as the rage ignited when he'd seen his village ruined and his people slaughtered.

Musyamon nodded, circling him as a beast might its prey. "If you can kill me, I'll let you do it," he said after a few silent moments of observing Shou. "Now _try_."

Shou didn't wait another moment. Once more he launched himself at Musyamon, hands trying for the throat, knees attempting to hit anywhere they could.

Once again he found himself on the ground, Musyamon casually knocking him there, showing no more concern than if a small gnat buzzed at him. He didn't let Shou rest, either. Another kick. Another promise. If Shou could kill him, he would let it happen.

But Shou couldn't. He couldn't even raise a welt on him. Landing a blow – the one or two times Musyamon _allowed_ him to do so – did almost nothing. Musyamon only smiled at him, finding all of this far too amusing for words.

Shou spent almost all of his time training and practicing. He'd come out here today after breakfast to put himself through his paces. Musyamon interrupted roughly halfway between breakfast and lunch.

By the time he fell to the ground the final time, barely able to move and without a single part of his body that didn't ache and throb, stars littered the night sky.

Musyamon stood over him, calm and at rest and without a shred of sweat on him. Shou no longer knew the difference between his own sweat and the rain. It all soaked him regardless.

"I told you. You're useless. Worthless. Barbamon-sama wastes his time pampering you. You'll never be of use to him."

Shou had no idea of where that last spark of energy came from. But it came from somewhere and he launched himself upward, piledriving his fists into Musyamon's throat as if his own life depended on making the hit. He could feel the flesh under his fingers and he strained to squeeze, to make it count, to prove that he _was_ of use, he just needed to learn.

Musyamon knocked him down one more time and pressed one foot into the small of his back, grinding it ruthlessly.

"Yield, human." Musyamon ground his foot even harder as Shou wriggled underneath him. "Yield."

 _He beat me._

Part of Shou wasn't surprised. Musyamon had likely forgotten more than he would ever live long enough to learn about fighting. But another part of him screamed to get up, to keep fighting, to find a way to win this no matter what.

Even if there was a way, he had no more strength left to try it. He slumped down, all of the fight draining out of him, and didn't move even when Musyamon's boot left his back. Hot tears of anger and shame pricked at his eyes. If he'd had an ounce of energy left and a weapon to do it with – and if Musyamon had let him do it – he would have cheerfully stabbed the warrior Digimon.

Footsteps. Very familiar ones. He dragged his head up in time to see Barbamon-sama striding closer. For a heartbeat he dared to hope that Musyamon would be punished for this somehow. That hope died the moment Musyamon bowed to their liege lord and Barbamon-sama bent his head in acknowledgment.

Shou forced himself to his knees. He had no idea of how. But he knew he couldn't stay on his stomach, not like that.

Barbamon-sama said nothing to him, only stared measuringly, before he turned to Musyamon. "Well?"

"I think it's a waste of time." Musyamon replied right away. "Not at all worth the effort."

Shou's heart sank as Barbamon-sama nodded. It sank even further when the old Digimon spoke yet again.

"Train him. I want him to be better than you in all ways. Make him a warrior to be feared."

Musyamon tilted his head, then stared down at Shou dismissively. "I don't think that's possible, Barbamon-sama. He's human. You know how breakable they are. Look at him now."

Barbamon smiled viciously. "Do it anyway."

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** This chapter was written for WIP Week, day #6, newest WIP. I may write more later, but I can't say for certain. Also, there are three arcs to this. Chapters 1-3 were Shou meeting Barbamon & swearing his revenge & allegiance. Chapters 4-6 will be his training with Musyamon. Chapters 7-9: you'll see when we get there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Word Count:** 7,150/13,009|| **Chapters:** 5/9

* * *

"Dodge." Muysamon said no more than that, but Shou already moved before the word properly faded. Slim, sharp-edged daggers coursed through the air, filling the space where he'd been. Shou ducked down low, rolling towards his trainer – if trainer was even the right word. Some would probably have thought 'tormentor' was more fitting.

Shou didn't care what the word was. He cared about what Muysamon taught him and about one day using those lessons to not only defeat Muysamon himself but the ones who'd slaughtered his people.

The daggers spun around and started toward him again. Shou couldn't take a moment to rest and scrambled the other way, taking quick breaths as he did. He needed to build up not just his agility but his stamina. He'd not forgotten how Muysamon ground him into the dirt on the day that they'd met one another, pushing him harder and harder until he couldn't fight back.

He still did it now, every single day. Sometimes Shou couldn't even drag himself back to his room, but fell into an exhausted slumber in the training square, awakened at the crack of dawn by Muysamon's prodding.

On those days he didn't get breakfast and frequently didn't get lunch, either. Sometimes he only got lunch be cause Sorcerimon or Barbamon-sama insisted that the training stop. He'd already learned to do more on less food than he'd thought possible.

"You want to eat, don't you?" Musyamon spoke as if he understood the thoughts slipping through Shou's mind. Shou did his best to keep his features as blank as he could. Anything that could give away a thought was a weakness and he dared not be even a little weak.

Weakness lead to the moment when he'd awakened in what had been his village, confused and dying and alone and with the strength for one last scream before his voice failed him forever.

Muysamon didn't wait for any sort of reply. With a wave of one hand, the daggers split into two waves, each one coming from two different sides. Shou sprang up and over them, though not without injury. One dagger sliced open his left leg, another raced down his right arm, and a third cut into his cheek.

These were hardly the only injuries that he'd received after weeks of training. They didn't compare to what he'd experienced in the raid and so they meant nothing at all except for something he would need to be aware of, to judge his endurance by.

The wounds also meant that he wasn't good enough yet. That time still stretched out between him and his goal.

A hiss of anger poured through his lips as he fled the blades again. If he didn't move fast enough they would pin him to the ground. And Musyamon would mock him.

Again.

Not a single day had passed since his training with the warrior Digimon began where Musyamon didn't spend at least part of it pointing out how weak and useless Shou was, how he would be far better doing something along the lines of learning how to weave cloth or cook or scrub dishes or sweep floors or dispose of refuse instead of being Barbamon-sama's Knight and Champion.

Every time, Shou dragged to mind the memory of when he'd woken to see the devastated ruins and the empty place in his heart where Peckmon had been and he pulled himself to his feet to begin practicing again. He didn't care what Musyamon said. He would see this through. The only thing that would stop him would be his own death.

 _No. That won't even stop me._ His fingers bunched into fists, even as Musyamon's usual mocking words poured over him, commenting on his uselessness in a fight, the way he could do nothing to defend himself or anyone else, how the first time he was in battle it would all end for him, how much time was being wasted on him.

He didn't care. He kept doing it anyway. He'd heard Barbamon-sama's order to Musyamon: to make him into a warrior the equal of Musyamon, if not even greater. If Barbamon-sama believed that he could be that, that he held even that tiny scrap of potential, then Shou would strive for that goal until his dying breath.

More wounds opened up as the knives flew by again. Shou stared at them, trying to think of what he could do, anything that would let him avoid the attack. There had to be _something_.

His feet shifted, just a little. He needed to do something, and a ghost of an idea wafted by. It might not work. But even better, he decided, it just might, and it might even be something that Musyamon hadn't expected.

If he could surprise his trainer, that would be best of all.

He'd put in so much effort into training his body to be strong and agile, to move in ways that he'd never imagined that he could. Now he leaped up, higher than he had when evading the blades, and landed on two of the nearest. It took a few seconds to catch his balance, but nothing more. The daggers kept on flying, and now Shou ran on them, leaping from one to the other. Keeping his balance up there required constant focus, especially as Musyamon began to shake the daggers in an attempt to knock him off.

"Not a bad trick," Musyamon praised him, the words pulled hard from his lips. Shou didn't dare take time to enjoy them, rare as they were. In the last few weeks, he thought he'd earned praise from Musyamon perhaps once or twice, not counting this time, and those times involved his utter inability to give up, no matter how exhausted he was.

Now he did something else: he did what Musyamon demanded of him.

"Find a way to use these to your advantage, while not being hurt by them," Musyamon told him when he'd started this part of the training. It had been days. Long, hard days where he'd ended up not just worn to the bone, but with many wounds that Sorcerimon healed for him only because he needed to be at his peak constantly.

Sometimes Shou wondered if Sorcerimon enjoyed the chance to practice his healing arts. Shou certainly gave him lots of damage to practice on.

Now he grabbed for two of the daggers as some of them swept closer, finding their weight comforting in his hands. He hadn't picked out a particular weapon as of yet. He would need to eventually, but for now, he learned everything he could about every weapon possible.

Musyamon laughed at him. He didn't care. He'd heard it all before. Instead, he took aim and threw each dagger at his trainer. Musyamon managed to knock them away without harm, but Shou thought he caught sight of a rare moment of pleasure across the Digimon warrior's face. That had to mean he was getting better.

Without warning, Musyamon waved a hand and the daggers all vanished. Shou barely had a moment to catch his breath before he fell again, and quickly tucked himself into a rolling landing. When he looked up, Musyamon stood over him, arms folded, expression of expectation visible.

Shou only knelt to Barbamon-sama. He dragged himself to his feet, however, and stood with his head deferentially bent, but keeping himself aware of where Musyamon stood and what he was doing. It wouldn't have even been close to the first time that Musyamon attacked when Shou thought the training ended for the day.

But now, he stood there quietly, watching Shou. At last he broke the silence.

"Go eat. But I expect you out here again at sunset. Do you think for a moment that your enemies will be kind enough to only attack you by daylight?"

Shou shook his head; that had never once occurred to him. Hadn't the attack been at night? He thought it had been. There was still a great deal that he didn't remember about it.

But now he hurried away, wanting a hot bath before he ate. He wasn't going to shame Barbamon-sama by appearing in torn and muddy clothes with blood streaked here and there.

* * *

Musyamon watched as Shou vanished into the castle. He couldn't help but smile just the tiniest bit, little more than a bending of his lips.

 _He might actually be capable of what Barbamon-sama wants him to be. To run on the daggers – what an idea._ He wouldn't have wagered a human could do that.

He looked forward to see what else Kahara Shou could surprise him with.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** I finally finished this! So, regular daily updates until I've completed posting.


	6. Chapter 6

**Word Count:** 8,594/13,009|| **Chapters:** 6/9

* * *

Shou pushed forward, grinding his teeth, sending Musyamon back several paces. He knew better than to back off, forcing himself forward those paces, slashing with all of his strength at his trainer. Musyamon parried it, dodging to the side, a small blade in his free hand slicing towards Shou.

He'd done that before. Frequently Shou ended up with small injuries because of that. Sorcerimon didn't heal the ones that weren't life-threatening or that didn't interfere in his training. So a network of fine scars laced his body these days.

After six years of intense daily training, he would have been more surprised if it hadn't. He'd grown from a young boy into nearly a man in Barbamon-sama's service, his life devoted to learning for the sake of vengeance.

Before the blade could cut, Shou brought his own around in time to block it and danced out of the way before Musyamon could recover enough to try again. He dragged in a deep breath of air and somersaulted backwards, needing just a few moments to get himself oriented.

He needed to win this fight. He needed to win _every_ fight. The same determination that fueled him all these years glowed in his bones and blood. Barbamon-sama wanted him to be Musyamon's better. He'd already learned all that he could from all of his other trainers. It could happen.

Mud squished under his shoes as he circled, Musyamon not quite within range. At least not now; one of them would charge sooner or later. Or do something to continue the fight. Shou remained determined to win it.

 _Mud._ The idea formed in a single moment. Shou wasn't at all certain of the results, but he needed to try. He jumped back two paces and dug his sword in the mud, scooping up a blade's worth.

"Surrendering?" Musyamon asked with a mocking laugh. "I thought you never gave up, human."

In all these years, he hadn't called Shou by his name once. It was always 'human' or some variation of that. Shou stopped looking for his name after the first six months.

He shook his head. He hadn't uttered a word in all those years. Even Sorcerimon couldn't be certain of what stole his voice. The best guess they could wager was the grief of seeing his home destroyed.

He would still trade his voice a thousand times over for them to return. Or for the chance to wreak unholy vengeance on them.

But now he denied the very thought of surrendering, as he always did. He might yield in a training match; it was the only way that Musyamon would stop one and sometimes he just needed to rest or eat. But true surrender? Never. And Musyamon knew it.

And Shou took advantage of that brief moment of his trainer mocking him, flicking the mud-covered blade of his sword up so the mud flew, splattering all over Musyamon's face and getting into his eyes. The warrior sputtered, reaching to wipe his vision clear, and Shou struck.

He didn't run. That would make noise and Musyamon would defend himself. He'd lost fights like that before – and nearly lost a leg as well once – so he had another scheme already in mind. He leaped upward, up to where he made no sound, and threw himself forward with all of his weight, legs first, kicking Musyamon's sword from his hands, and knocking him onto his back.

Shou landed on top of Musyamon, his own blade now at Musyamon's throat. Muddy or not, he could take the kill if he wanted. He knew it, but even better -

Musyamon knew it.

The warrior blinked up at him, just able to see. Shou tried hard not to grin but only for a few moments. He'd done what had been his goal since the first time Musyamon began to train him: defeated his teacher.

"I… yield," Musyamon grated the words out. Shou could read the rage in them, but there was something else, hidden underneath that.

Pride.

He'd seen how Musyamon pushed him harder every time he achieved a new goal, wearing him to exhaustion day by day, forcing him to reach new heights, until he could perform tasks that few Digimon and even fewer humans could accomplish. And as those years clicked by, he'd seen how Musyamon wanted to see him succeed. Not for Shou's own sake, but to prove his own talents as a teacher. There were few who could be surpassed by their student.

Shou moved back, allowing him to get up. Musyamon heaved in a few breaths before he rose, but didn't yet go for his sword. Shou watched, until a faint noise caught his attention, and he saw an approaching shadow.

He felt no fear in turning his back on Musyamon this time. His teacher wouldn't attack him without warning in Barbamon-sama's presence.

Kneeling before his liege had become second nature over the years. With every passing day Shou grew more and more devoted to him. He would never forget how he owed Barbamon-sama his life.

The old Digimon rested a hand on him for a brief moment and Shou thrilled to the unspoken praise.

"He's defeated you," Barbamon addressed Musyamon. "With cunning and with strength."

"Yes," Musyamon agreed, slowly drawing closer and kneeling as well. "It wasn't a lucky hit. He struck at the proper moment."

Shou shivered at that praise. He'd really done it. He'd succeeded.

Now Barbamon turned back to him. "You need a little more seasoning," he told the young knight. "And experience in defeating those I set you against. I have a mission for you."

His first real mission. The first time he would have left Barbamon's castle in years! He didn't count training trips. He would have a goal and he could succeed in it!

He steadied himself. He wanted Barbamon-sama to remain proud of him. He nodded quickly and tilted his head, ready to hear more.

"Two days away from here, toward the setting sun, there is a ruined castle. It was once used by old enemies of mine. Somewhere in there – even I don't know where – there is a treasure that I desire. I searched for it when I first defeated them, but they hid it very well. I will trust your eyes to find what I could not. Bring the treasure back to me. It will be the only item in the ruins that is still truly intact."

Barbamon paused for a moment. "You may face enemies along the way. Slay them in any way you please. Bring me what evidence you can of having defeated them as well. I want to see proof of how hard you've worked to fulfill my goals."

Shou bent his head in quick agreement, his heart pounding a little faster as he did. It seemed like such a simple task. It had to be more.

"Complete this to my satisfaction and you'll have other tasks to accomplish," Barbamon finished. "And soon I'll have a reward for you as well. Something I know that you'll enjoy."

Shou nodded again, internally thrilled at every word. He couldn't imagine what such a reward would be, but he was determined to earn it and find out.

At a wave of Barbamon-sama's hand, he scrambled to his feet and headed indoors. He would need to clean up, rest, eat, and prepare before he could depart on his mission, as much as the desire to _go_ filled him from his head to his feet. Out there was the chance to put all of the last few years of his life to the test, to fight against opponents who would be as eager to kill him as he was to kill them and who wouldn't be held back by Barbamon-sama's word.

If anything, they would want to kill him _more_ because of him being Barbamon-sama's Knight and Champion. He'd heard tales over the years of how others considered Barbamon-sama evil. He didn't care. He'd bargain with Hell itself to get his revenge on those who slaughtered his village.

The world out there would be so different from what he remembered. Shou looked forward to seeing all the differences for himself. As well as to showing the world he wasn't the child that he'd once been.

* * *

Barbamon watched as Shou vanished back into the castle. He dismissed Musyamon with a brief nod, quite pleased at how everything developed so far. The first step had been successfully accomplished: Kahara Shou achieved levels of competence in combat few humans could, making him the sword of Barbamon's will.

A sword that all of his enemies would very soon feel the sharp edge of.

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** One arc to go to finish this story. But Shou is just beginning his adventures.


	7. Chapter 7

**Word Count:** 10,043/13,009|| **Chapters:** 7/9

* * *

The world didn't _look_ different. Shou hadn't expected it to, not all that much. He'd never gone beyond the borders of his village and the surrounding forests before the destruction, so he didn't know what had been out there and what hadn't been. Truth to be told, he wasn't even certain of how far away from what had been his village Barbamon-sama's castle was.

It didn't matter now. What mattered was that he had two days to get to this ruined castle and there was a small village between Barbamon's castle and there, where he would spend at least one night.

Even being small, the village had a tavern, which was probably the biggest building in the whole place. It was probably also the only building set up to house more than whatever family lived there, even if said 'housing' would only involve a straw mat in front of the banked fire.

Shou could feel eyes on him as he entered the tavern. People watched him ever since he arrived in the village, really. This didn't surprise him. He doubted the place saw that many visitors, and even fewer who wore the armor that he did: black as night, with Barbamon's sigils on his cloak.

As he approached the innkeeper, a sudden thought struck him. He'd lived the last few years of his life in a place where everyone who met him knew that he couldn't talk. They respected and feared Barbamon-sama enough not to mistreat his favorite human. Would these people? They lived close enough to Barbamon-sama's home to fear his wrath, but Shou didn't want to bring that down on them.

Not without just cause, at least.

He would make himself understood. He doubted any of them could read or write, since he hadn't seen a single written sign in the whole village, and in places like this, literacy didn't seem that important compared to getting enough to eat. So he would have to do something else.

The innkeeper drew himself up as soon as it was obvious where Shou's steps took him. Unlike most innkeepers Shou had read of – on those few occasions he'd had leisure to read – this one was rail-thin and nervous. He was also not that old, probably not yet into his thirties. A fading bruise colored one side of his face and a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

"How may I be of service, good sir?" The innkeeper asked. Shou considered him for a few moments before he gestured to the poorly constructed fireplace. Compared to Barbamon-sama's castle, Shou found himself wondering just why this inn hadn't already burned down.

The innkeeper glanced from him to the fireplace and back. Shou took the next step and set a single coin on the bar. It wasn't _much_ of a bar, but it sufficed for what he wanted. The coin winked up in the flickering candlelight, gleaming pale silver. The odds of the innkeeper having seen something like it from one year's end to the next was very slim.

It also made what Shou wanted very plain. The innkeeper's fingers twitched towards it but he didn't snatch it up just yet.

"Of course, sir. Just tonight? And did you want food as well?"

Shou suspected whatever was served here wouldn't be to his liking, or to his proper digestion. Besides, he had enough food in his pack, provided by Floramon, not to count on others. He wanted only a place to avoid the coming inclement weather.

So he shook his head, gesturing again to the fireplace and the straw mat in one corner.

"Of course, sir," the innkeeper repeated, bobbing his head. "I assume you wish to be left in peace?"

That got a firm nod of Shou's head. He cast a quick glance to the other patrons, most of whom looked as if they hadn't had a good meal in far too long, and all of whom looked as if they were trying to decide how much trouble it would take to rob him and if it were worth that trouble. Shou hoped they figured out it wouldn't be. He'd rather his first kill wasn't a pack of peasants too hungry to realize they were outclassed.

At his look, all of them at once did their best to come across as if they were merely being curious and not murderous. Shou mentally rolled his eyes and headed over to the suddenly vacant seat by the fire. Already he could hear rain pattering down outside, and he wanted to rest while he could.

* * *

As the stranger settled down by the fire, the locals congregated by the bar, muttering in hushed voices.

"He has to be nobility. Look at what he's wearing. And this!" The innkeeper hissed between his teeth, tapping at the silver coin. _Real silver_ at that. He'd never seen its like before. A sheaf of wheat on one side and a shield on the other marked it: nothing that he recognized, but he didn't care. It was silver. It could be traded for almost anything he wanted.

"Where did he come from? The only people with any wealth near here are Barbamon-sama's people," the butcher murmured, casting a glance over her shoulder. "He doesn't look like a Digimon."

"As if you'd know what one looked like in the first place," grumbled the baker. "But you're right on that." He frowned, staring at the stranger in his own turn. "Didn't that one traveler – the one last year – say something about Barbamon-sama having a pet human?"

Slow, thoughtful nods moved through the gathered villagers. They'd all heard it; news came through here rarely enough that everyone chewed it over for months when it actually happened. The traveler hadn't given much information, or had much to give in the first place. But they'd made mention of a young man living in the evil Digimon's castle, clearly being treated well.

"If he's from Barbamon-sama, then I'm not going to touch him," the weaver declared. "I don't care how much money he has on him. Not worth _my_ life."

The innkeeper stared at the stranger, who'd removed food and drink from his pack, all of which seemed so much finer than what he had: the food, the drink, and the pack. He could see a money pouch as well, fastened to the young man's belt. It looked _very_ heavy.

 _If I had that, I could leave this town altogether. Let someone else run this place._

"We're going to need someone new to run this place," the butcher muttered, staring at him. "He's got the greed in his eyes."

The innkeeper ignored her. He would have that money but he wouldn't harm the young man. If he had all of that, then he clearly wouldn't miss it. He would just have to wait a little bit.

"Not serving anything else tonight," he announced. "Get on out of here, back to your homes! Come back tomorrow!"

He waved them all out, wincing at the pain from his half-healed arm, and started to clean up for the night. Only the stranger remained, chewing his way through a simple meal and enjoying the fire. At least the innkeeper hoped he was, and wasn't actually paying attention to it.

The innkeeper carefully extinguished the candles and came over to the fireplace, concealing a small pouch in one hand. He could open it like that easily enough and did so while bending over to prepare the fire for the night. He sprinkled the contents on what would be coals soon enough, knowing the aroma would spread out into the room.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked around to see the stranger looking at him before he gestured to the fire. Had he been seen? He decided quickly.

"Just a little something my grandmother taught me. A mixture to keep the evil spirits away." He offered a small smile. "Don't think it _works_ , but what could it hurt, right, m'lord?" He followed the smile up with a bit of a laugh, that of a country bumpkin pretending to be more sophisticated.

The stranger stared at him for a few heartbeats then nodded, removing his hand. The innkeeper tried hard not to sigh in relief as he settled the straw mat down for his guest, hoping to get safely to his cubbyhole soon.

His grandmother had been the village herbalist for most of her long life. What he'd dropped into the fire would release a fragrance that would send anyone who breathed it into a deep sleep for hours upon end: giving him all the time he would need to sort through the stranger's pockets and claim all that money for himself.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** Some people have no self-preservation skills at all!


	8. Chapter 8

**Word Count:** 11,522/13,009|| **Chapters:** 8/9

* * *

Shou knew what it was like not to be able to sleep for fear of nightmares, let alone the nightmares themselves. He'd woken up many times in those early days, visions of what happened to his village stamped behind his eyes in living color, the screams of his mother and Peckmon echoing in his ears.

He never knew for certain if those were true memories or something conjured up out of his imagination, based off what he knew had happened. But it didn't matter. He'd dreamed too many times.

And since he needed his sleep to grow stronger, then a way to ensure he achieved it had been developed. So he also knew how _not_ to sleep when he didn't really want to. Such as when someone else tried to make him.

His hand flashed out to wrap around the tavern keeper's wrist as it dipped too close to his belt and belt pouch, perhaps a little too tightly, but he didn't care at the moment. His eyes darkened with smoldering fury as he shook his head defiantly.

The tavern keeper gulped, staring at where Shou's gauntleted hand gripped his wrist.

"I assure you, m'lord, I meant no wrong. The herbs didn't give you the wrong idea, did they? They're meant only to drive demons away." He let out a very weak laugh. "You're not at all a demon, are you?" He clearly thought this some kind of a joke.

Shou didn't think it was all that funny. He kept on shaking his head, somewhat wishing now that he did have a voice of some kind. Any kind, so long as he could make this clear.

Instead, he reached out with his free hand and plucked the tiny bag of herbs away from the keeper's own belt. Releasing him, Shou wrapped the bag up tightly and tossed it closer to his own bags.

The keeper squeaked a little more, taking a step towards them, until Shou turned a very furious gaze on him. Then the man stepped back, pulling the wrist Shou grabbed closer to him.

"I meant no harm, m'lord, none at all!" He started babbling and Shou wasn't in the mood to hear it. He'd been traveling all the day and he had more to go. He gestured for the other to get out of there. That was all he cared about, that and getting some sleep.

The keeper babbled a few more broken words, far more terrified than Shou's actions allowed for – at least in Shou's opinion – and then scurried out of the room.

Shou stared after him for a few seconds, before he curled back up into his blankets.

 _I think I'm lucky I can recognize the scent of lavender and valerian._ It was the same mixture that Sorcerimon and Floramon had developed to help him sleep when the nightmares grew too bad. He'd fallen into deep, peaceful rest many times over the last several years with that scent in his nostrils.

He would leave the bag there. He didn't need it and while he wasn't sure of _why_ the keeper wanted to do that, he had a few suspicions, sparked by the keeper reaching for the money pouch Barbamon-sama had seen fit to bestow upon him before he'd left.

Shou closed his eyes and let himself dip into dreams he far more preferred, of finding the filthy cowards who'd slaughtered all of his people and bringing the most viscous and righteous of justice down upon them. It was a good dream and one that he'd shaped over the years and one that he looked forward to helping to come true.

* * *

The castle, ruined as it was, huddled against the hills, not much more than a collection of half-built stones blackened by long-ago fires and covered by dark green moss and clinging vines. Shou could see the shape of it still.

Death had been here, once. Shou held back the flickers of his own memories. Had there been any survivors here, who'd thought they could avenge their losses against Barbamon-sama?

Shou bit his lip. He wasn't certain if he could blame them if they had. But clearly Barbamon-sama had come out on top in that particular little altercation.

He would think on it later. Maybe. Barbamon-sama's plans were a mystery to him, but they also didn't matter much. All he needed to do was follow his orders and he would achieve his own goals.

Searching would take time. He hadn't been given any form of time limit, but he wanted to do this as quickly as he could, to prove himself to Barbamon-sama. First he searched the area outside, checking for any signs of something that might have been hidden or buried. He even went so far as to turn over moss-covered rocks, but to no avail.

He'd somewhat considered that he might have to, but now he stared into the ruins themselves. He'd arrived here by mid-morning, for which he now found himself even more grateful. He'd rather not have to look around here after dark. It would be difficult enough to do this by daylight.

There was an entrance, or what had probably been an entrance, many years earlier. Vines grew over most of it and a thick bush had sprouted up in the center, filling what space hadn't been already taken over by rubble and broken debris.

Carefully Shou moved over there, watching for the slightest hint of anything falling. He reached out to touch the bush briefly; it had thick spiky leaves and was covered with deep gray-green berries and tiny gray-blue flowers that gave off a rich scent when one of his hands brushed against them.

Shou didn't trust that. He'd seen more than enough beautiful plants that held deadly secrets. Some of them turned out to be his friends, but he still didn't trust this.

He took one step back, unsheathed his sword, and cut the bush down in one hit, yanking it out of the doorway and tossing it to the side. He stared into what he could see beyond it: a long, low corridor with the remains of what had probably been valuable tapestries once upon a time. What he could see gave him the impression that they'd been torn to shreds, some of them even torn off the walls and tossed aside.

Step by careful step he moved down the corridor, watching where he put his feet to avoid the tiny holes that could trip him up.

 _This place was beautiful, once,_ he thought. It wasn't now, being little more than a shattered ruin, but he could see what had once been.

They deserved what they got, Shou decided. They'd done something to enrage Barbamon-sama and this was the price of it. They hadn't been innocents: Barbamon-sama wouldn't have done this to innocents. Not after what he'd done to help Shou all of these years.

Rooms led off the corridor. Shou checked each one of them, taking as much time as he could to search for any signs of whatever the mysterious treasure might be. The longer he was there, the more nervous fingers crawled their way up his spine. He knew this place was empty; he'd never heard so much as a footfall as he made his way around here. But that didn't mean he didn't feel like he was being watched regardless.

The more he worked, the closer he kept his sharp knife, both for cutting through overgrown areas and just in case something did jump out at him. The most he saw, though, were just tiny mice and other occasional rodents, all of which scattered whenever he got close enough.

He stopped for a quick meal as it drew closer to noon, then kept on searching. The sensation of being watched grew even deeper after that, to the point Shou made certain to keep one wall to his back, and only after he'd made certain that the wall remained sturdy and there wasn't anything there that shouldn't be.

The sun fell closer to the horizon, shadowy fingers reaching outward to wrap around the area, and Shou finally found himself drooping against the wall, sweat-streaked, exhausted, and wondering if he had enough food in his pack that he didn't have to actually cook. He'd never been that good at cooking in the first place, and right now he wanted to try even less than ever.

There weren't footsteps, he told himself, but it was getting a bit chillier, and as it got darker, mist began to stir around. Shou didn't pay much attention as he started to get his dinner together. The mist got thicker by the moment, the temperature dropping as well.

There were no footsteps, but Shou still couldn't shake the sensation of eyes watching him, to the point he didn't want to sleep.

And yet, his eyes began to close regardless.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

 **Notes:** I am whistling very innocently!


	9. Chapter 9

**Word Count:** 13,009/13,009|| **Chapters:** 9/9

* * *

 **Kahara Shou.**

The name – his name – echoed in his mind. Shou didn't think he opened his eyes, let alone moved, but he knew someone watched him. There wasn't anything but darkness in every direction, folding all around him, keeping him safe, fueling that burning need for vengeance and justice.

 **Why do you hate so much, Kahara Shou?**

Who was that? He didn't recognize the voice. If he didn't know them, then they wouldn't know that he couldn't speak. How could he answer them?

 **You don't need to talk. Think of your answers and I will know them.**

Oh. Was this a dream? That could happen in dreams. But if it were a dream, wouldn't he be able to talk there?

He tried to open his eyes – surely he could do that too if this were a dream – but nothing changed. He couldn't move at all, either.

 **Why do you hate?**

Oh. He might not be able to speak, but he could at least answer the question. He could feel the power behind those words and he'd long ago learned to respect power.

 _Because they killed everyone. My mother. Peckmon. The whole village._ He hadn't always liked everyone in his old home, but that didn't matter. They were all dead. They shouldn't have been dead. They shouldn't have been dead like _that_.

He'd always intended to leave when he got older, to explore the world with Peckmon by his side. Shou would have been thrilled to never see any of them again, so long as he'd always known that it was _there_ , whether he chose to return or not.

 **And you intend to kill all of the raiders in return.** It wasn't really a question. Shou nodded. He would trust Barbamon-sama to find them and guide Shou to them.

 **Barbamon is a Demon Lord. Should he help someone, it's only for his own advantage and nothing more.**

Shou wanted to laugh. He thought he might have, in a silent way.

 _I know. He told me that years ago._ It hadn't been long after he'd begun his training with Musyamon. In point of fact, Musyamon made certain he understood that he would be tolerated only as long as he remained useful.

So Shou went out of his way to _be_ useful. To learn and grow and be able to do more that would earn him the help that he needed.

Shou cast around for more words. Whoever this was, they needed to understand.

 _He saved my life. Without him and without Sorcerimon, I would have died there. For that alone, I would do whatever he said. But he also helped me. He found people who taught me. He's going to help me find them so I can kill them all._

There wasn't an answer for a few moments.

 **You truly trust him to do this? You believe this is the right thing for you to do?**

 _Yes._

 **You would sell your soul to a demon for your revenge?**

 _For this? A thousand times. A million times. You think I don't know what he is? I know. And I'm his Knight._

Shou could not have said it any more plainly. He knew the kind of power that Barbamon-sama used. He couldn't have spent the last six years growing up with him and _not_ known. None of the Digimon he'd grown up around had ever seen fit to hide matters from him, especially as he got older.

And none of it mattered. No one else had ever been there to offer him help. There hadn't been any grand saviors arriving to defeat the raiders that burned his village to the ground. Barbamon-sama and Sorcerimon saved his life. Musyamon and many others taught him, preparing him for the battles to come.

Whatever the cost, he would pay it gladly.

 **The treasure you are here to seek. Do you know what it is?**

 _No. Only that Barbamon-sama wants it._

 **It is a treasure that can revive a Digimon. Once and only once. A Digimon whose data has been destroyed can be revived by its power.**

Shou stiffened at the words. Somewhere – he didn't know if his body existed in this strange dark place – he could almost feel his hands clenching into fists. A single word thrummed through him.

 _Peckmon._

 **I truly can't say if he could be revived with it. It has been some time since he fell. He may already have been reborn elsewhere. But this item can restore any Digimon, even one whose data has been scattered. What do you think Barbamon wants it for?**

Over the course of the last six years, Shou had grown used to not being able to speak. But even now, with that question, he could feel words of rage hovering on his lips. He slowly shook his head instead.

 _Why do you keep trying this? I'm never going to turn away from him! I don't know why he wants it. But he's going to help me! That's what I know! That's what I care about! And you can't! Even if you could, where have you been all this time?_

A long stretch of silence, followed by a low breath of a sigh.

 **Should you ever change your mind and seek a new path, then return here. I will be here. I will help you.**

 _Who are you?_

 **That, I will not say. But you will find the treasure when you awaken. Remember that, Kahara Shou. Remember.**

* * *

Shou opened his eyes, blinking, confused for a few moments. He'd dreamed… something. He wasn't sure if he remembered it at all, save for a vague certainty that today he would find that treasure.

He pushed himself to his feet, looking around, half expecting to see someone there. There had been someone here, hadn't there been? He could have sworn it.

And yet, there wasn't. Everything remained as it had been before he slept. Not even a hint of another person having been there.

He started to search again, not bothering to eat. The idea of finding that treasure glowed in the front of his mind far too clearly. He searched every room that he'd missed the day before, until he came to the largest room of all.

There in the center, on a small raised pillar, he saw a sphere of silver. Circling the pillar was a ring of dust that glimmered gold in the morning light. Shou gave it careful examination before he removed his cape and draped it over the golden dust. Nothing at all happened. Shou stepped over it, wary with every movement. When nothing more continued to happen, he stared at the sphere before he reached out to take it.

It rested in his hand without any sort of protest.

 _Barbamon-sama will be proud of me._ Shou smiled. He'd succeeded in his first ever mission. Or he would, once he returned home and delivered this.

And the sooner he did that, the better.

* * *

Mistymon, hidden behind a veil of magic, watched in silence as Kahara Shou, Barbamon's Knight, headed out of the ruins, the sphere safely tucked away in his pocket.

 _Did I do the right thing?_ He suspected he would wonder about that for a great deal of time. He'd tried his best to at least introduce doubt in Kahara Shou's mind, to remind him that Barbamon could never be completely trusted.

He himself didn't know all of Barbamon's plans. That would involve getting far too close to the Demon Lord. But he had his own ways of gaining information and he would continue to watch. Someone _had_ to keep an eye on Barbamon before he did too much that couldn't be undone.

Kahara Shou had a good heart, he suspected, buried underneath years of anger, hate, the undying desire for vengeance, and so much ingrained loyalty to Barbamon. Mistymon could only hope that something would break through all of that to help him, sooner or later. Right now, he knew that he couldn't. He'd seen how deep that inner darkness rooted in Shou's heart. Barbamon did everything that he could to encourage it as well.

Justice was one thing. Revenge was something else altogether. Mistymon hoped that Shou could learn the difference.

 _I think he'll need help. And I think I know the help that he will need._

What he did not know would be where to find that help. Or even if the help truly existed anymore.

But Mistymon wasn't one to give up hope, not even a hope as thin as this one was. He'd already completed his task here, of guarding the treasure until it could be guarded no more. So now he dropped his veil of concealment and took to the air.

There were many places where a Digimon could revive. And he would search all of them if he had to, until he had the answer that he wanted, and the help that the lost Knight needed.

* * *

 **The End**

 **Notes:** So, the end of my first NEXT fic. There will be sequels. This is now a series. Shou has revenge to accomplish, a partner to be reunited with, and other tasks for his liege to carry out. And maybe he needs to learn a better place to put his loyalty? Well, future fics will see if he does that.

Also, I meant to post this last week, but I ended up getting sick and I haven't had more than minimal energy to do anything. But I'm getting better now so here's the ending!


End file.
